


Degrees of Separation

by Peanutbutterer



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutbutterer/pseuds/Peanutbutterer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dead Marine, a stash of drugs, and somebody loses a shirt. Just another day at the OSP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"She wasn't."

"She was."

"No, she wasn't."

Callen looks up from his laptop as Kensi and Deeks enter the mission, argument in full-swing. From the tension in Kensi's shoulders and the depth of her frown, he'd guess that this particular bout of bickering has been going on for a good five minutes.

She rolls her eyes.

 _Okay_ , Callen thinks. _Probably ten_.

"She was," Deeks insists, clearly just as frustrated as Kensi. "I know she was. I have a sense about these things." He stops at the entrance to the bullpen and looks to Sam. "I'm right, right?"

Sam leans back in his chair and shakes his head. "You have very little sense at all. No _common_ sense." He gestures to the plaid button-up Deeks is wearing. "No _fashion_ sense."

"This from the guy who owns one shirt in eight colors."

Callen snorts.

"And that cologne you wear clearly indicates you don't have a sense of smell," Sam continues, ignoring both Deeks' remark and Callen's reaction. "I'm siding with Kensi on this one."

"Come on." Deeks turns to Callen. "Back me up here, man."

Callen shrugs. "It is a little strong. Coconut?"

Kensi laughs and sets her bag on her desk.

"I don't wear cologne," Deeks defends, removing his own bag and dropping it on the floor beside his chair. "It's sunscreen. I put on sunscreen when I surf in the mornings."

"At seven."

Deeks spares Kensi a glance. "Just because you can't feel the sun, doesn't mean its rays can't hit you."

Sam scrunches his nose. "You should risk skin cancer."

"Thanks." Deeks drops into his chair. "I'm touched."

"Just not by the barista," Kensi says with a grin.

Callen looks at her. "Starbucks girl not hitting on Deeks again?"

"Not even a little."

"She was!"

Sam shakes his head, but turns his attention back to his computer. "She wasn't."

Deeks throws up his hands. "You weren't even there."

"I don't need to be there to know she wasn't hitting on you."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Deeks, I've seen your game while you've been undercover."

"Okay," Deeks says, pointing a finger at Sam, "that's not even fair. I intentionally have bad game when I'm undercover. It puts the perps at ease because then they don't worry I might actually take one of their girlfriends home. Your problem is that you've never seen the real Deeks in action. She was definitely responding in a positive manner to real Deeks."

"She wasn't," Eric interjects from the stair landing.

Four heads swivel his direction.

"And how would you know?" Deeks asks.

Eric just smiles. "Trust me. I know."

Deeks groans.

"We've got a case."

* * *

"Private First Class Marco Perez," Nell begins, once everyone's in the room. "Thirty-nine years old. Never married, father of five. Works in the administration office at Camp Pendleton."

"A paper pusher," Sam supplies.

Nell nods. "PFC Perez did two tours in Iraq, but came back before his second was finished, following a leg injury that left him effectively disabled. He's been working on base for the last six years.

The image of the driver's license that had been taking up the big screen slides away and another photo appears. It's a crime-scene shot, revealing what appears to be a very dead Perez.

Deeks cringes. "Well, at least he doesn't have to worry about any more paper cuts."

Kensi rolls her eyes.

"What? I'm just trying to look at the bright side."

"Foul play?" Callen asks, folding his arms as he examines the photo.

"It doesn't appear so," Eric answers, pushing up out of his chair and typing something on his tablet as he crosses closer to the screen. "He was found with heroin in his system." He pulls up another photo and points with his stylus. "The needle was still in his arm."

Deeks looks away from the screen. _Ugh, needles_.

"Looking a little white there, partner," Kensi says from beside him. "You going to be okay?"

He puts his hands on the table to steady himself. "I'm great."

He doesn't have to look at her to know she's grinning.

"So why are we on this?" Sam asks. "OD's aren't a crime that needs solving."

"True," Eric agrees. "But this is."

After a few taps on his tablet, another picture mercifully comes on the screen.

Callen whistles. "That's a lot of heroin."

"So he was a dealer?"

"That's what you're going to find out, Ms. Blye," Hetty answers as she walks into the room, the doors having apparently agreed to open silently to facilitate her stealthy entrance. "A stash of this size in the house of a Marine is most certainly something we need to be concerned about."

"What about the kids?" Deeks asks Nell. "He has five?"

She nods and scans her tablet. "Looks like they youngest is nineteen, the oldest is twenty-three. They're all currently enrolled in college."

"Fertile guy."

"Where are they going to school?" Callen asks.

Nell's lips purse as she reads the information. "All different, all in Southern California. The closest is at Corman College in Lincoln Heights."

"Well, it looks like we're going back to school, Sam."

"Perfect."

"You two check out Perez' apartment." Callen looks at Deeks. "Try not to get hit-on on your way there."

Sam smirks. "Won't have to try."

"Hey -"

Kensi grabs Deeks by the elbow and yanks him toward the door. "We're on it."

* * *

Sam pulls the Challenger up to the curb and cuts the engine. On the opposite side of a small quad sit three two-story brick buildings, distinguishable from each other only by the names engraved on the metal placards beside the entrances.

Callen looks down at the campus map they took from the admissions office and then up at the buildings. He points to the middle one. "Looks like this is it. The Atkinson Building. Javier should be in there for about," he looks at his watch, "two more minutes."

Sam brings up the kid's picture on his phone so he'll be able to identify him. He's about 5'11", short dark hair, dark eyes. No distinguishing features.

Callen unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to his partner. "You know he's right, right?"

Sam looks up from his phone, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Deeks," Callen clarifies. "He's right."

"Deeks is never right."

Callen raises his eyebrows.

"Okay," Sam concedes with a sigh, "he's been right once or twice."

The look on Callen's face clearly says _bullshit_. "Well, he's right about this."

"The barista?"

"Yeah. We went in there on Monday. Blond hair, blue eyes." He points to his lips. "Drool forming in the corner of her mouth when he smiled at her."

"Maybe she was drooling at you."

Callen tilts his head. "Something you want to tell me, big guy?"

"Yeah, I find you attractive." Sam unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door. "Want to meet me at the roller rink on Friday night? My mom's out of town."

Callen laughs as he steps out of the car. "Roller rink? You're really dating yourself."

Sam shuts his door and walks around to join his partner. "Oh and you're an expert? When's the last time you took a woman out, old man? Was there still a Czechoslovakia?"

"I think I see Javier."

Sam smirks. "Yeah, sure you do."

"No," he points to a set of double doors. "I do."

They make their way across the grass and catch up to Javier as he's stepping onto the sidewalk.

"Javier Ortiz?" Sam says as he approaches the kid and flashes his badge. "N-C-I-"

"Shit," Callen mouths as Javier takes off.

Javier pushes his way through a pack of students heading the other direction. Sam follows in Javier's wake, only a few steps behind. He can see out of the corner of his eye that Callen is taking a parallel course, cutting off any possibility that Javier will return to the building he had just left. Sam's eyes are locked on Javier's black hoodie as he weaves further through the crowd. Without warning, Javier changes course, taking him away from Callen and toward the open, grassy quad. Sam steps out of the wake and takes an angle that will put him a few steps closer to his target.

Sam should be nearly on top of Javier by now. He would be, except that Javier backtracks and instead of coming out of the crowd of students, he goes back in it.

Sam shoulders his way back in the mass, knowing it will only be a matter of time before Javier gets caught between him and Callen.

"Ooof." The sound of air being pushed out of lungs barely registers on Sam's radar. He's dimly aware that he has bowled over a preppy-looking kid about half his size.

"Sorry," Sam utters as he pushes forward, except the only part doing any pushing is his upper body. His legs are momentarily of no use, somehow getting tangled up in the straps of the messenger bag that had flown out of the preppy kid's hands when Sam ran into her.

Sam rolls to his feet, barely losing momentum, but he can see the few seconds have cost him. Javier's ducked back out of the crowd and is sprinting across the quad away from Callen, who by now has given up any attempt at containment and is focused solely on pursuit. Sam can see from his more distant vantage point that both bodies are moving toward a large building that looks like a dormitory. Javier is obviously going to get there first, but Callen isn't that far behind and by the time Javier stops to get the door open, it should close the gap and put Callen within a few steps of the kid.

Sam thunders across the grassy expanse, catching up to Callen, but not quickly enough to be of any real assistance. He can see Javier reach the door, pulling on a lanyard that had been hanging out of his pants pocket. Javier pauses briefly at the door before wrenching it open. Callen is close. Just on the other side of the door, Javier stops. He's reaching for the door, straining to close it faster than the hydraulic spring will go on its own.

"Sam!" Callen yells over his shoulder, as his hand reaches for the handle. "You go around the back, I'll cut him off from this -"

Callen's words cut off as his hand closes over the door handle. Sam can see the muscles in Callen's back straining to pull it open, but it won't move. Javier's standing just a few steps back from the door, breathing hard, eyeing the door warily. A taunting smile appears on his lips as he sees Callen is unable to access the building.

"Restricted access," says Sam, as Javier pulls his lanyard up into view, a Student ID card attached to the end of it. "Doors only open if you've got an access card."

"Smart kid," Callen says, begrudgingly.

Javier retreats inside the building, turning a corner and moving out of sight.

"By the time we get this thing opened, he's going to be long gone. It's a residence hall; I'll bet there are at least five or six ways out. No way we can cover all of them while we wait for backup."

"Why do they always run?" Sam asks, breaths coming at slightly longer intervals as he recovers from the chase across campus.

"Because you're intimidating?"

"It's my size, isn't it? Big muscles?"

"No, because you scowl."

"I do not scowl."

"Yes, you do."

"I'll have you know, I'm a very happy individual."

"Well, you could smile more."

"Javier was smiling through that door. Maybe you could spend a little more time with him. I mean, if you can catch him next time."

"I was moving into position to assist with your takedown. I just didn't count on you taking yourself down."

A smile plays out across Sam's face.

"Just what I thought, much less intimidating."

"Yuck it up, bub. Let's see if Hetty's smiling when we get back to Ops."

* * *

If Kensi rolls her eyes one more time, she's afraid they'll roll right out of her head. "Why are we still having this conversation?"

"Because you're still wrong."

"I'm not." She picks another bundle of papers up off the kitchen table and flips through them. Bills, bills, junk, junk.

"Why can't you just admit that she likes me?" Deeks asks, opening another cupboard and scanning the contents. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"The big deal is that she doesn't."

"Listen, just because you're jealous -"

She drops the mail back onto the table. "I'm not _jealous_."

Deeks puts up his hands. "I'm not judging."

"I'm not jealous!"

"You're sabotaging my chances with Amy -"

"Andi."

"Whatever. She could be my future wife."

"Except that she hasn't given you the time of day."

"That's not true. Just last week I asked her and she told me it was quarter-after eleven. It was a real moment for us."

She scoffs and makes her way into the living room. "I bet."

It's a small room with one large picture window in the front. On one wall is a mid-sized flat-screen tv, with an old, worn recliner positioned in front of it. No couch, no extra seating. He may have had five kids, but he certainly lived alone and never entertained. In the corner by the window is a desk with more papers and -

"Is that an easel?"

Deeks comes into the room and steps up behind her. "Huh. Doesn't strike me as the artsy type, but I guess a guy's got to find some way to relieve the stress."

"Besides the heroin."

"Besides that."

She crosses to the easel and examines the painting. She's not a great art patron, but it's pretty clear this guy has some amount of talent. It's abstract, colorful, unfinished. There's a palette with globs of paint sitting on the desk beside it and a few open jars of colored water. She touches a bit of the green. Still tacky. He must have been working on it not long before he overdosed.

Deeks is at the table beside her, flipping through a collection of paintings. "He was actually pretty -"

The window in front of them shatters, the sound of bullets mixing with the echoes of breaking glass. The full weight of her partner sends her flying into the easel and crashing into the floor, water and paint splashing all around her as shards of the window fall on top of her.

Gunfire fades as both Deeks and Kensi pop their heads up, sidearms trained on the black Suburban as it continues down the street, window rolling up and an automatic weapon retreating back inside as it speeds out of sight.

"You okay?" Deeks asks, breathlessly, his eyes running up and down the length of her.

"Yeah," she answers automatically. "You?"

"I'm good."

Deeks calls in the license plate to Eric and turns his attention back to Kensi. His fingers brush her forearm and come away red. "You're bleeding."

She looks down at herself and finds not just red, but a virtual rainbow of colors. _Crap_. "Those are oils, aren't they?"

Deeks makes a face. "Maybe?"

Kensi groans and pushes herself up off the floor. "You had to tackle me into the paints? You couldn't have just said, 'Get down' or something?"

"Hey, I saved your life. You shouldn't criticize my methods."

She looks at her jeans. Her favorite jeans. "Your methods ruined my shirt."

"It's not that bad," he says, entirely unconvincingly. "Didn't people used to splatter their clothes with paint? That's a style, right?"

"Yeah, in the nineties."

"I hated the nineties."

"Neon was not a great idea."

Deeks nods. "Come on, Picasso. Let's get your go-bag."

Kensi groans.

"What?"

"Remember last week with Corporal Hunt's niece?"

"You mean the time you got vomited on?" He grins. "Vaguely."

"I never repacked."

"So you don't have a change of clothes?"

"I do, just no shirt."

He shrugs. "Well, you can just wear that shirt. We'll play Boyz II Men in the car. If you're lucky I'll mix in some New Kids on the Block. It'll be like a time-warp."

It's Kensi's turn to grin. "I have a better idea."

* * *

"Plates are registered to Angela Carter," Nell says, before hitting a few more keys. "Looks like she lives in Silverlake."

Beside her, Eric's doing some typing of his own. He lifts his hands off the keyboard and points at the screen. "Reported stolen six months ago."

"Great." Nell sighs. "So we've got nothing."

Eric nods. "We've got nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

Lance Corporal Thompson is middle-aged, average build, and his high-and-tight obscures much of what might look like excessive thinning with a civilian haircut. He shifts uneasily in his seat, eyes darting between Sam and Callen, clearly uncomfortable with the situation he’s found himself in.

“Is there something I can...” He trails off without finishing the sentence he just barely started.

“Lance Corporal Thompson, you were Private First Class Perez’ supervisor in the administration office?” Callen asks, the answer already clear from the papers in front of him.

“Yeah. Sure. For the last, uh,” Thompson tries to hide his relief at getting an easy question, but he’s not successful, “five years? Six years?”

“What did he do there?”

“Filed paperwork, mostly. And did some computer stuff. He was pretty good with computers. One time I had a problem with my laptop and he showed me how to run some mealware progr--”

“Malware,” Sam corrects.

“Huh? Oh. Sure. Right. Malware.”

Callen’s looking at Sam, confused and maybe a tiny bit impressed. Sam waves him off with a look.

“What was his job title?” he asks Thompson.

“He was our benefits specialist.”

After a look of his own, Callen pulls his attention back to the Marine. “And how long had he been doing drugs?”

“Drugs?”

Sam nods. “Heroin. How long?”

“He was?” Thompson shakes his head. “I didn’t know. How would I know that he was on drugs?”

Callen laces his fingers together. “The track marks on his arms indicate this wasn’t his first time.”

“Far from it,” Sam adds, leaning forward, his palms on the table. “You expect us to believe you never had any indication it was happening?”

Thompson puts his hands up defensively. “Believe what you want. I’m telling you I didn’t know.” His leg starts bouncing up and down, an unconscious tic. “I didn’t work that closely with him. He had his own cubicle in the back - rarely ventured out of it. He wasn’t the social type, you know? And I never spent time with him outside of work or anything. He wasn’t, I don’t know, wasn’t friendly.”

“I’ll be sure and put that in his obit.” Callen closes the folder. “Did you know his kids?”

Thompson’s brow furrows. “Kids? Perez didn’t have any kids.”

“He had five.”

Thompson shakes his head. “No. No kids.”

“You just got done telling us you didn’t really know him,” Sam reminds him. “What makes you so sure he didn’t have any kids?”

“Well, I guess I’m not sure. I just never heard anything about them. No pictures, no nothing. I always assumed he was alone.”

Sam meets Callen’s gaze before turning back to Thompson. “We’ll take your observations under advisement.”

* * *

Callen follows Sam out of interrogation and finds Kensi and Deeks perched shoulder-to-shoulder on the edge of the table. They turn their attention from the monitor as the senior agents enter the room.

“Let me guess,” Deeks says, pointing at Sam. “You spent six months as a computer programmer for a radical terrorist blogger.”

Kensi shakes her head. “No, too long. Ten days as tech admin at an accounting firm that had ties with Al Qaeda.”

Sam snorts. “Not even close.”

Deeks tilts his head. “Busboy at an internet cafe?”

“I can see that,” Kensi says, looking at Sam like she’s actually trying to picture it. “Cute little white apron. I bet you made a lot in tips.”

Deeks perks up. “Do you get to keep the tips or do you have to turn them in to Hetty?”

Kensi grins at her partner. “Why so curious? Are you hoping to land yourself undercover in a tip-earning profession? One you have experience at, maybe?”

“You are the worst vault __ever__ ,” he hisses.

“Computer virus,” Callen guesses, not even trying to figure out where Kensi and Deeks’ line of thought has just gone. “Eric had to fix it and he wouldn’t stop babbling as he did it.”

Sam points at Callen. “Bingo.”

“Ah yes,” Deeks says with a nod. “The hazards of internet porn.”

“It was not porn.”

“Sure thing.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m saying it wasn’t.”

They continue to argue, but Callen’s suddenly having a hard time paying attention. Instead, he’s focused on Kensi. Something’s different. Boots, jeans, green and white checkered button-up - 

“Is that Deeks’ shirt?”

She nods. “Yup.”

“Why are you -” Callen looks between them. Deeks is wearing a white t-shirt under a grey hoodie he definitely wasn’t wearing this morning. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Sam just shakes his head and gets back to business. “Thompson says no kids.”

“There weren’t any family photos in the house,” Deeks supplies. “Though I don’t know if I’d write off the kids just because they didn’t do a photo on Santa’s lap every year.”

Callen opens his phone and hits a key. “Eric,” he says when it’s pressed to his ear, “dig deeper into the kids. Find out why there’s no indication of them in his day-to-day life.”

He hangs up and looks at Sam. “Let’s go check out his office.” He turns to Kensi and Deeks. “You two sit on Javier. See if you have better luck.”

“You mean better skill,” Deeks says with a smirk.

Sam’s nostrils flare. “Luck.”

“I’m just saying I heard something about tripping. Maybe a faceplant?”

Sam looks to Callen, clearly betrayed. “I did not faceplant.”

“You’re right,” he assures Sam. “You definitely caught yourself before your face hit the pavement.”

Deeks grins. “Must be those lightning-quick SEAL reflexes.”

“Keep laughing, Shaggy, and I’ll show you how lightning-quick my reflexes can be.”

Deeks looks to Kensi. “Was that an innuendo? That sounded like an innuendo.”

“God, I hope not.”

Callen figures he’s about thirty seconds from having to physically restrain Sam. Time to move. He gestures to Kensi. “I’m sure Hetty has a shirt you can wear.”

Deeks shakes his head. “She’s proving a point.”

She nods. “I’m proving a point.”

Callen has no idea what that means, but he figures it’s best left that way. “Okay then.”

* * *

Nell looks over Eric’s shoulder, interpreting the data on his screen. She reaches forward to scroll down, letting her fingers brush his shoulder as they pass by. The goosebumps on his arm appear on contact.

 _ _Works every time__ , she thinks, smiling to herself.

“Did it just get a little bit colder in here?” Eric asks.

She lets him off the hook easy, nodding ever so slightly and pretending not to notice.

“Nothing surprising in DEERS,” she comments, as much to herself as to Eric.

“I guess if you don’t consider five kids from five different moms surprising.”

“You’re just guessing based on different last names. For all you know, Private Perez was a baseball fan and gave all of his kids the last names of his favorite players.”

“Right. Your analysis makes much more sense. Totally based on logic. I’m surprised I didn’t come up with it first.”

“What can I say? I’m an outside-the-box thinker. It’ll come in handy one day when I’m chasing down bad guys in the field.”

The warmth fades out of his eyes, and she immediately regrets her last comment. She knows he worries about her. Probably more than worries. She still remembers the look on his face the first time she confided in him her dream of being a field agent.

“So. Perez.” She steers the subject back to the case. “What’s your best guess? Ladies man? Playing the field?”

His fingers dance across his keyboard, eyes darting back and forth, taking in the text as he scrolls through military dependent files and information.

“This doesn’t really make sense,” he offers as he continues to scroll.

“What doesn’t?”

“Well,” he stops typing and swivels his chair to face her, “the first thing I noticed was that none of their files contain a copy of the original birth certificate. I mean, that isn’t terribly odd, but it was enough to make me take a second look.”

“Okay, and...”

“I probably wouldn’t have noticed it right away if the copy versions didn’t make it so easy, but look at their places of birth.”

“Los Angeles. So they’re local.”

“No. Los A-n-g-e-l-s. They’re all misspelled. No way that happens with five birth certificates issued to five different kids over the course of several years.”

“So you think they’re fakes.” She makes it a statement, not a question.

Eric doesn’t reply, instead turning back to his computer.

Now that she has a direction to aim her efforts, the pieces start falling together almost immediately. “L.A. County Health has no record of a Javier Ortiz born to a Marco Perez.”

“Or any of the other kids,” Eric says, still typing. “So who are they?”

* * *

“What point is it that you’re proving exactly?”

Kensi doesn’t respond, putting her elbow on the car door and resting her head against her hand.

“So, I should guess then?”

She continues to stare out the window, watching the co-eds as they play a game of Ultimate Frisbee in the center of the quad.

“Okay, let’s see.” He drums his fingers on his thigh. “You think bullet holes are sexy and I totally deprived you of an opportunity to sport some. You're stealing my shirt so that I'll remember not to let it happen again."

Her nose crinkles in disapproval.

“No? No as in, ‘No, I don’t think bullet holes are sexy’? Because, if that’s the case, I don’t think you’ve been looking at the right bullet holes. I have a few you could examine more closely, if you’re interested.”

Kensi spares him a glance. “Bullet holes are not sexy.”

“Don’t let Callen hear you say that. That guy is three-quarters bullet-hole.”

“Deeks,” she warns. There’s a little more seriousness in her expression now than there was before, making it clear to him that that particular subject is a touchy one.

“Okay, so it’s not that you’re itching to become swiss cheese. Is it that you wanted me to see my shirt from another perspective?” He twists so that he’s facing her fully. “Is this a comment on my wardrobe choices?”

She takes a moment to consider it. “You could do with less plaid.”

“Hey now,” he says, reaching over to poke at the sleeve. “I’ll have you know those are comfortable.”

“My eyes would disagree.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s not hurting my eyes right now.”

She looks down at herself and tugs at the hem of the shirt. “Yeah, well, a pair of boobs will make any shirt more bearable to look at.”

Deeks focuses his attention out her window. “I’m trying really hard not to stare at your chest right now. I want points for that.”

"Fine." She points her finger at him. "But you’re still in the red because of that comment last week.”

He smiles, remembering the way it made her laugh, how her hand brushed his forearm. Sure, she was an alias at the time, and as soon as they got back to her car she punched him so hard it left a bruise, but he's pretty sure the initial laugh was genuine. “Worth it.”

She rolls her eyes. “I figured.”

Eyes still trained out her window, he watches as Javier exits a nearby building. “It’s showtime.”

They get out of the car and head in different directions in order to box him in. Deeks goes around the Frisbee players, jogging just a little to get far enough ahead to swing back the other way.

He crosses the grass and hits the sidewalk, adopting a more casual pace. In front of him, he sees Javier, hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack, head down, hood up. When he’s about five feet away, Deeks stops.

“Hey, man,” he says, putting his hand up to stop Javier. “Aren’t you in my econ class?”

Javier looks at the hand on his arm, then up at Deeks. “Don’t think so.”

“Really? Professor Daniels, yeah? Really long lectures, super-tiny handwriting. And who does he think he’s fooling with those shoulder pads, am I right?”

Javier frowns.

“No? Okay then.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his badge. “LAPD. Let’s take a ride.”

Javier spins on his heel, turning 180 degrees and coming face to face with Kensi.

“I’d really prefer not to pull my gun,” she says, clearly underestimating the fear that comes with just her authoritative tone and pissed-off stare. She’s plenty intimidating without drawing a weapon.

Javier nods, reluctantly making the only realistic move he can, stepping up beside Kensi and letting them escort him toward the car.

* * *

“He ripped off her buttons.”

Sam snorts. “Doing what? Triage?”

Callen just gives him a look. 

“Nooo.”

Callen raises his eyebrows and turns his attention back to the computer in front of him. He pulls a thumb drive from his pocket and sticks it in the USB port.

“No way,” Sam says as he shuffles through some paperwork on Perez’ desk. “I don’t buy it.”

Callen types a few strokes on the keyboard and starts the download. “Why not?” 

“Because we’d know.”

“How would we know if they were having sex?”

“We’d know.” He drops the stack of papers he’s rifling through and moves on to the next pile. “We’re trained to read people.”

Callen shrugs and stands, making his way to the file cabinet while the computer does its thing. “They’re trained to lie.”

“They’re not that good at it. Especially if she’s wearing his shirt. That’s so far from stealth it’s not even on the same planet.”

Callen points at Sam, grinning. “Aha! So you admit that’s what it looks like.”

“I admit it can’t be that because that’s exactly what it looks like.”

“How about if Nell was wearing Eric’s shirt?”

“With Eric’s fashion taste?” Sam shakes his head. “Uh uh. No way Nell wears Eric’s shirt, and he’s too big to wear hers.”

“Fair enough. But your point aside, would you still think it was too obvious?”

Sam considers that for a moment. “In their case, I would expect them to trade shirts to make us think they were having sex to hide that they aren’t having sex even though they want to be having sex. Just not with each other.”

“You realize you’re making no sense.”

“I realize this is a stupid conversation, that’s what I realize.”

Callen opens a drawer, flipping through the folders. “It’s certainly better than that ten minute diatribe I just sat through about your organic smoothies and the benefits of flaxseed.”

“It promotes a healthy digestive system.”

“Okay, let’s not talk about Kensi and Deeks and let’s not talk about flaxseed.” He pulls a page out of the folder he’s been flipping through and holds it up. “How about we talk about this?”

* * *

Deeks looks at Javier as they walk to the car. “So, if you had to compare my takedown to Agent Hanna’s, you’d rate mine higher, right?”

Beside him, Kensi snorts. “What takedown?”

“Agent who?”

Deeks puts his arms out in his best approximation of Sam. “Big guy, relatively scary, bit it on the pavement while in pursuit?”

“Oh, him.”

“My approach was better, yeah? I mean, we got you. Sam failed. There’s really only one logical conclusion, but I’m looking for style points.”

Kensi just shakes her head.

Javier looks like he’s stranded somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “Are you for real?”

“I think so. I don’t know.” Deeks turns to his partner. “Kensi, pinch me?”

“Punch you? Sure.”

“You guys are cops, right?” Javier asks, looking between them. “I’m not being punked or something?”

“I am, she isn’t.” Deeks points to Kensi. “She’s my life-coach. I’ve been having some real self-doubt moments lately and I find that her constant uplifting counsel really motivates me to see things in a more positive light.”

“I need to start carrying a muzzle.”

“See what I mean? Touching. I’m going to have to let her go soon though. The bill is atrocious. I mean, for twenty bucks an hour, I at least want to get a -”

And then, for the second time that day, Deeks is getting shot at. Maybe he __does__ need a life coach.

Deeks’ subconscious registers the thud of bullets hitting tires, the crash of car windows shattering, and the high pitched ping of metal on metal as more bullets smash through the car bodies. The hail of bullets is coming quickly, too fast for one shooter, but not overlapping enough for three.

 _Lousy aim_ , he thinks. _Lucky us._ But he knows from years of ballistics training that lousy aim doesn’t matter when the bad guy is getting off close to two rounds per second.

They’re only a few feet from the car, so they make a run for it, Deeks drawing his weapon as Kensi shoulders Javier forward. The three of them duck down and press up against the side of the SRX - Kensi pulling out her SIG as their eyes scan the crowd, looking for the source of the barrage.

Even with the screaming throngs of co-eds, it isn’t hard to find their attacker. The SUV they had seen that morning is pulled up across the street, two guys standing outside the open passenger side doors, weapons raised.

Deeks meets Kensi’s gaze, nodding and bracing himself for action. When she pops up, he leans around the back of her car, firing off two quick shots before tucking back in. His shots go wide, but Kensi’s don’t, dropping one of the pair to the ground. By the time Deeks leans around again, the remaining guy is already back in the SUV, slamming the door as the driver presses on the gas, leaving their fallen comrade in a pool of his own blood.

Both Deeks and Kensi run out into the street, firing rapidly at the retreating tail lights as they speed out of sight.

“Shit,” he says, dropping his arms to his side. He turns to Kensi. “You okay?”

“Fantastic.”

“At least I didn’t have to tackle you this time.”

“Small favors.”

“Well, yeah, considering you secretly like it when I do, it’s probably no favor at all.”

“Hey Deeks?”

“Yeah?” he asks, bracing himself for the _shut up_ he’s sure is coming.

“Where’s Javier?”

Deeks swings around, scanning the immediate area as the sounds of sirens get louder and the screams of the students die down. Sure enough, Javier is nowhere in sight.

“Crap.”


	3. Chapter 3

Callen watches as Kensi and Deeks cross the threshold into ops, both looking a little dejected. She’s still wearing his shirt, but it’s now sporting traces of powdered sugar on the front.

“Conciliatory donuts?”

Kensi just glares as she leans back against the table, arms folded in front of her. Deeks parks himself beside her, making a face that clearly suggests he should drop it. 

Callen decides it’s probably best to get started. He nods at Eric. “What’ve you got?”

“Well, the good news is that Javier wasn’t abducted.” Eric puts video footage of the shootout onto the big screen. Callen and the team watch as Kensi and Deeks come under fire. While the pair is focused on the guys with the guns, Javier takes advantage of their distraction and slips off unnoticed.

“Nice collar, Deeks,” Sam says as the footage ends. “I’m hoping you can give me some pointers. Let me know how the professionals do it.”

“Yeah, sure. For starters, don’t fall on your face.”

“And at what point should I get my car destroyed?” Sam asks, pointing to Kensi’s SRX on the screen, riddled with bullets. 

Kensi whimpers and Deeks pats her arm.

Sam, on the other hand, is grinning. “Before or after I lose my suspect?”

“I recommend you do it at the same time,” Deeks answers. “More efficient that way.”

Callen clears his throat. “Eric?”

“Huh?” He takes a moment to drag his focus over to Callen.

“And after that?” he prompts. “Where’d he go?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Well.” Eric taps his tablet and brings up two more videos. “We were able to follow him on security cameras from the ATM down the street and the traffic cam on Griffin and Altura, but then we lost him.”

“Deeks lost him,” Sam corrects.

“At least I had him to lose.”

“Is that better? Really?”

“The dead guy is Jose Flores,” Nell says, stepping up to take the tablet from Eric. She pulls up his police file and puts it beside a photo Kensi or Deeks must have taken at the crime scene. “His arrests include armed robbery and felony assault, but his only convictions were minor possession charges. Because of his known associates, LAPD has him listed as a member of the Ochoa cartel.”

Callen stares at the screen, brows furrowed, hoping that somehow the images will provide him with answers. They don’t.

“So,” Deeks say after a moment, “why does the Ochoa cartel want Javier dead?”

“Do they?” Sam asks, frowning.

“I’d say the little display they put on earlier was a pretty good indication.”

Sam points at the screen. “But there’ve been two shootings and Javier was only there for one of them.”

“You’re saying you think they want us dead?” Callen raises an eyebrow.

“Well, Deeks anyway. Can you blame them?”

“So heartless.”

“That’s okay, Deeks,” Kensi says, dropping her hand onto Deeks’ thigh. “Maybe they wanted me dead.”

He pouts. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

He looks down at her hand and then up to her eyes. “A little.”

She rolls her eyes and removes her hand.

“Okay,” Callen pushes off the table where he’s been leaning, “we need to figure out how these things are connected. What was Perez into? Who are these kids? How are they related? What does the cartel have in this? Who or what are they after?”

“All very good questions,” Hetty says as she steps into ops, her hands clasped behind her back as she glances between the room’s occupants. When her eyes land on Callen she raises a finger and proclaims, “ _Mille viae ducunt homines per saecula Romam._ ”

He waits a moment for an explanation that doesn’t come. “Are you going to tell us what it means or do I have to go get my Rosetta Stone?”

Hetty tsks. “One day, Mr. Callen, you will come to understand that great reward comes from having at least a passing familiarity with Latin.”

He tries not to roll his eyes. “I’ll start with mastering a few more living languages before I tackle the dead ones.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, jabbing his thumb in Callen’s direction. “He probably should work on Farsi first.”

Callen sighs. He’d rather hear a lecture on dietary supplements than get ridiculed for that again. “It’s on my list.”

“You just like having to depend on me. Admit it.”

“I know I’ll never be as good as you. What’s the point in trying?”

“If that’s really your motto, you shouldn’t bother getting out of bed in the morning. I can’t think of anything you’re better at than I am.”

“Well, Russian, for starters.” Callen ticks them off with his fingers. “Prestidigitation, toaster repair, kayaking -”

“Attracting trouble, getting beaten up, locking yourself in the trunk - you’re right,” Sam interrupts. “There are a few things.”

Hetty clears her throat. “ _Mille viae ducunt homines per saecula Romam_ ,” she says, “is latin for -”

“All roads lead to Rome.”

Her mouth turns up in the hint of a smile. “Very good, Mr. Deeks.”

“So now this is an interstate highway case?”

Deeks shakes his head once as he cringes. “Still needs work.”

“It was funny,” Kensi defends.

Callen makes a hemming sound and tries not to meet her gaze.

“It’s a conceptual idea,” Deeks says over the ensuing silence. “I’m not surprised that a linear thinker like yourself isn’t familiar with it.”

He manages to mostly avoid the punch that he (and everyone else in the room) saw coming a mile away.

“Different paths leading to the same goal,” he continues, rubbing his arm where she nicked him. “Take me for example. I’ve been slowly winning you over with my charming personality, and now I’m changing tactics and utilizing my superior intelligence. But it’s all with the same end goal in mind.”

“Which is?”

Deeks just smiles.

Callen sighs. He probably doesn’t want to let this go any further down that particular path. “Okay, Mr. Conceptual. You take the far road, we’ll take the close road, and we’ll figure this out...” he waves his hand, “apart.”

Deeks makes a face. “Don’t quit your day job.”

Callen ignores him. “We find the kids, we find the connection.”

Nell, who’s been busily typing on her keyboard, spins around in her chair. “Addresses have been sent to your phones.”

Eric whistles _Loch Lomond_ as they file out of ops.

* * *

“Admit it,” Deeks says as they get out of his car in front of Alex Marin’s apartment. “You’re just a tiny bit impressed.” 

Kensi looks up at the building. It’s a three-story complex, faded white siding with trim that probably used to be blue but now is closer to grey. The large, gold numbers on the exterior doors indicate that 320 is on the far east side of the third floor. 

“Statistically speaking,” she says as they make their way to the staircase, “you were bound to know some piece of trivia that would be relevant at some point in your life.”

He gasps, offended. “You think it’s an anomaly.”

“It’s like seeing a shooting star. I’m honored to have witnessed it,” she says as she climbs the stairs to the third floor.

Deeks stops at the second-floor landing and waits for her to turn and face him. “ _Ratio legis est anima legis_.”

“And what is that?”

“Oh, sorry. Let me translate - atioray egislay estyay animayay egislay.”

“Oh my god. Did you just translate Latin into _Pig Latin_?”

Deeks grins and makes his way up to her. “Yep.”

“On’tday inchflay,” she says as her fist connects with his bicep.

“Ow! Hey, I was just trying to be considerate!”

She glares. “By providing a translation to my native tongue of pig?”

He rubs his arm, still grinning as they step up to Marin’s door. “You’re the one that said it.”

“You really are twelve.” She shakes her head and gives the door a quick knock. “Alex Marin?”

There’s movement inside, but the door doesn’t open.

“You’ve got some...” Deeks waves his finger in the general direction of her chest.

Kensi looks down at herself and swipes at the powder on her - his - shirt. “Thanks.”

“LAPD,” Deeks calls, stepping closer to Kensi. “We have a few questions for you.”

She gives him a look.

“Did you want to explain NCIS to him through the door?”

“Why do you assume he won’t know what it is?”

“ _No one_ knows what it is.”

“You knew ‘all roads lead to Rome’ in Latin. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Monty knows Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.”

Deeks opens his mouth to respond when they hear the telltale sound of a sticky window slamming open.

After a quick glance between them, they move to the edge of the building and look around the side.

“Rope ladder?” Deeks says as they watch Marin shimmying out the window. “Really?”

Kensi takes off back toward the staircase, Deeks on her heels. They get down and around to the far side of the building in time to see Marin reaching an old, brown Honda. She increases her speed, shouting for him to stop as he swings open the door and ducks inside.

They make it to the car just as Marin starts the engine. She plants herself in front of the car’s hood and draws her sidearm. 

As she trains her gun on Marin, Deeks runs up to the driver’s side door, Beretta raised.

Marin puts his hands up and drops his head in defeat.

“That was borderline pathetic,” Deeks says, stepping forward and wrenching open the door. He gestures for Marin to get out. “You should have your buddy Javier give you some pointers.”

* * *

“It’s really bugging you, isn’t it?”

“What?” Sam looks over at his partner - the one currently gnawing on a soft pretzel. He doesn’t bother trying to hide his grimace.

“It bugs you that this kid’s gotten away from us twice now,” Callen answers around a mouthful of food.

Sam looks away. He promised not to give any more healthy food lectures today, but Callen’s really pushing it with this. That thing is like fifty percent butter. “Us once. Deeks and Kensi the other time. That doesn’t count.”

Callen sucks soda noisily through his straw. “They got closer than we did.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Actually,” Callen grins, “I think I’m going to remind you often.”

“Anyone ever told you not to poke a bear?”

“A bear? Yes.” He takes another bite, not bothering to swallow before continuing, “A teddy bear? No.”

“I am not a teddy bear.”

“A fluffy lamb? Stuffed rabbit?”

“You’re the one who’s going to be stuffed if you keep this up.”

Callen lifts his pretzel with a smile. “This is doing a pretty good job of it. Nice and filling.”

Sam just shakes his head. 

“Agent Hanna?”

Sam turns to the young woman, doing his best not to let his eyes fixate on the giant yellow hat with the cartoon corn dog on the front. “Is he here now?”

She nods. “He’s putting his things in his locker in the back room.

“Perfect, thank you,” Callen says. “And thanks for the pretzel. You were right about the extra salt. It really makes a difference.”

She smiles at Callen and Sam rolls his eyes.

Sam watches Callen climb over the counter. Even if they lose Javier this time, it will have been worth it to see his partner’s face redden as he hauls himself up and wriggles between the hot dog rotisserie and the plastic lemonade dispenser. He’ll have to ask Eric for the mall security footage later.

Once Callen’s clear, Sam hurries past The Noodle Palace and Sally’s Subs and heads into the hallway that leads to the public restrooms and back entrances to the individual storefronts. He finds the door marked “Big Dog Hut” and swings it open - just as Javier bolts toward it from inside. Javier’s momentum takes him smack into the door and he goes crashing to the ground, ass over teakettle, his yellow apron dangling from his neck.

Callen comes up from the front, weapon drawn, smirk firmly in place.

“NCIS,” Sam says, looking down at Javier. “It’s time to chat.”

* * *

Nell taps her earpiece to disconnect the call. “They’ve got him.”

“Did he say anything about the chili dogs?”

Nell shakes her head. “I didn’t ask.”

Eric sighs. He really wants a chili dog. Or a chicago dog. Or maybe even a corn dog. Heck, at this point he’d take a plain hot dog on a stick. His stomach growls in agreement.

Nell raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry.” He looks at his watch. “LAPD should have the other three delivered to the boatshed by now.”

“Kensi and Deeks will be there any minute as well.”

He rubs his hands together before connecting to the interrogation room feed. “Well, let’s see what’s going on in Rome.”

* * *

Kensi walks with Deeks as he escorts LAPD out of the boatshed once they’ve deposited their charges. He’s shaking their hands and patting them on the back. It’s all very chummy and fascinating and maybe even a little bit adorable.

He opens the door for them and two of the officers file out, but one stops and extends his hand to her. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Agent Blye.”

She shakes it. “Kensi.”

“Kensi.” He points at Deeks and then at her. “Either you two have remarkably similar taste, or that’s not your shirt.”

“It’s not her shirt.”

“Good. That thing is an eyesore. I’d be horrified to know there were more than one of them in the world.”

Deeks shakes his head. “You’re still as charming as ever, Ben. So glad to see you.”

“All right, all right. I’m going.”

Deeks closes the door behind him and follows Kensi back into the room.

“I thought everyone in LAPD hated you.”

“Urban legend.”

She hops up onto the table and looks at the screen. The four guys in the room are sitting in their chairs, not looking at each other and not talking to each other. It’s not even remotely interesting. She takes a deep breath and sighs - which, she realizes instantly, was a mistake. The shirt she’s wearing smells really, really good.

“Are you going to tell me what your ultimate goal is?” she asks after a moment.

Deeks plants himself next to her on the table. “What?”

“You’re winning me over with your charm and intelligence.” She turns to look at him, smiling just a little. “To what end?”

“I am?” He grins.

“You’re trying to,” she corrects with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, originally I’d have said it was to get you into my shirt,” he waves a hand to indicate her clothing, “but clearly that goal has already been accomplished. Though, admittedly, when I pictured it you were wearing a lot less other stuff.”

She laughs. “Me in your shirt and nothing else, huh?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“I’ll bet.”

He bumps her shoulder with his. “Don’t tell me it hadn’t crossed yours. Probably during one of those showers you spend thinking about me.” 

“That was _one_ time.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “That you’ve admitted to.”

“Why do I always feel like we’re walking in on something inappropriate?” Sam asks Callen as they step into the room, guiding a cuffed Javier between them.

Kensi scoots discreetly to put a little distance between her and her partner. “Because it’s Deeks. Everything he says is inappropriate.”

Deeks sighs. “Why am I the butt of the joke? She’s the one wearing _my_ shirt.”

Sam shrugs. “It looks better on her.”

“Yeah,” Callen agrees. “You’re going to have to retire that one now. It’s never going to measure up.”

Kensi tugs on the hem. “Plus, I kinda like it. Maybe I won’t give it up.”

“But I love that shirt.”

Sam pushes Javier forward as he leads him to interrogation. “Don’t worry, Deeks. Once the pheromones wear off, she won’t be so attached to it.”

“I am not attached to his pheromones!” she protests, but Sam’s already in the next room. “I’m not,” she tells Callen as he walks past her.

“She is,” Deeks insists as the door closes behind them.

“I’m not!”

* * *

Sam shoves Javier down into one of the two chairs that aren’t already taken. 

Once he’s regained his balance, Javier holds up his hands. “You gonna uncuff me?”

Callen sits in the final chair. “Nope.”

Sam takes his place standing next to Callen and surveys the room’s occupants. There are four guys - kids, really - none of them older than mid-twenties. Five, including Javier. They’re varying degrees of both uncomfortable and pissed, Javier being the only one who appears to be favoring the latter.

Javier expels a puff of air and nods to his co-conspirators. “These guys aren’t cuffed.”

“These guys didn’t escape custody.”

“Wasn’t in custody. I was with Lucy and Ethel and they were getting shot at. I was supposed to stay put?”

It takes a Herculean effort, but Sam doesn’t try to figure out whether Kensi or Deeks would be Lucy. “Yes.”

Callen opens a folder and pulls out a piece of paper, tossing it on the table in front of him. “Which one of you wants to tell me what this is?”

He glances from one pair of eyes to the next. “No one?”

“How about you?” Sam’s gaze is focused on the bridge of the Javier’s nose. He knows from hundreds of interrogations (not always on the questioning side of the table) that trying to connect to a subject’s eyes makes his own gaze appear shaky. The more intimidating approach is to pick a fixed point somewhere near the eyes and lock on.

For his part, Callen isn’t making any effort to throw any bones. Sam lets the slightest touch of a smile land on his lips for the briefest of moments. Sometimes they play it good cop bad cop. Other times they’re both good cops. Today, they’re both bad cops.

“Okay, then.” Callen leans forward. “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a VA form. It transfers Marco Perez’ GI benefits to his dependant,” he looks down at the paper, “Ricardo Luna.”

Across the table, Ricardo flinches.

Callen throws another form down. He points to the name. “Emilio Vargas.” 

Flinch from the guy with the baseball cap.

Another form. “Alex Marin.” 

Another flinch.

Another. “Rodrigo Garza.”

Rodrigo shakes his head.

Callen tosses the last form on the pile.

“Javier Ortiz,” Sam says. He looks between them. “Isn’t this a nice family reunion?”

“You guys have to drive around in one of those passenger vans?”

“Nah, man,” Javier says. “It was a school bus.”

“Yeah?” Callen holds Javier’s gaze and points to the rest of the guys. “Which one of them is Emilio?”

Javier doesn’t answer.

Sam looks at Marin and points at Javier. “What’s his name?”

Nothing.

Callen folds his hands on the table. “You guys ever met before?”

No one responds, but the looks on their faces make the answer perfectly clear.

* * *

Deeks frowns at the screen as he watches the interrogation play out. 

“Okay,” he says as he scratches his head, “I had kind of figured that they weren’t really going to be siblings, but they don’t even know each other.”

Beside him, Kensi sighs. “Well, the cartel knows them, or at least knows _of_ them. We still have to figure out the connection, and these guys are going to be zero help.”

“Not in there they’re not.”

She turns to him and waits, presumably for an explanation, but he’s a little distracted by her proximity.

“If you say something in Latin, Deeks, so help me -”

“It turns you on, doesn’t it? That’s why you don’t want me to do it.”

“Do you _like_ getting punched?” Her words are hostile, but he’s pretty sure she’s blushing.

He grins. 

“Do you think we just have terrible timing or are they flirting 100% of the time?” Callen asks as he and Sam step out of interrogation and into the room.

“Probably the latter,” Sam guesses as he crosses to the table.

This time, Deeks notices, Kensi doesn’t put any distance between them.

“So they replied to a Craigslist ad,” Callen says as he goes to fix himself a cup of coffee. “Perez traded heavily-discounted tuition for a thousand bucks each term.”

“Per kid.”

Kensi shakes her head at Sam. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is when you’re the guy doing the paperwork,” Deeks points out. “It probably wasn’t too difficult for him to figure out how to make it appear legit.”

Callen steps up to the team and takes a sip from his mug. “Okay, so we’ve got one benefits specialist who uses his status and his access to get five kids into college on the government’s dime. In exchange, he gets five thousand dollars per term and an overdose. The kids don’t have to pay for Intro to Bio Chem, but they do find themselves on the Ochoa cartel’s most wanted list.”

“But why?” Sam folds his arms across his chest. “What’s the connection?”

Deeks clears his throat. “I have an idea about that.”


	4. Chapter 4

He looks over his shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s thinks he’ll see, but he feels like it’s the right thing to do. 

A black Mercedes pulls over and stops half a block in front of him. He almost expects the doors to open and bad guys to come streaming out, like a clown car at the circus but with a lot less comedic flair.

Instead, when the passenger door opens, the first thing that emerges is a bare leg. While it may be mildly terrifying, it _definitely_ isn’t what he would typically picture as a bad guy’s leg. His eyes trail up the rest of her body. Nope, not a bad guy at all.

_Kensi_. The thought washes over him and immediately calms his nerves. He knew she was going to be on scene, but he'd been so rushed gearing up for his own part that he hadn’t been too sure exactly when she was going to appear. The slinky cocktail dress is a surprise, but he isn’t complaining. He’s halfway through trying to identify where exactly she’s carrying her gun when he realizes he’s forgotten all about being nervous.

Kensi is out of the car, chatting with the valet outside some nameless nightclub. Distracting, yet fitting in. He keeps moving and passes by her. He can feel her eyes on him, even though he knows that’s impossible because she hasn’t turned around.

He crosses an alleyway, remembering too many times when he'd been on the wrong side of the action within. He would almost prefer the alleyway to this though. Alleyways are familiar. Alleyways are predictable.

Tires squeal faintly behind him. He turns to look again, but can’t see anything past the lights of the cars lined up for the valet. The throbbing in the pit of his stomach is back. He tries pushing it away but it’s like an angry, open wound, constantly pulsing, reminding him it’s there.

He decides to cross the street. It doesn’t really matter where he’s going, but he feels better for having made a decision. It doesn’t seem so pointless if he’s making decisions. 

He stops by the neon sign advertising “GIRLS!” and wonders for a moment why the exclamation point is at the end. Maybe the girls there are more exciting than the run-of-the-mill stripper. Maybe they’re especially boisterous. Maybe both. He pauses for a moment, considering how much trouble he would be in if he stops inside for a few minutes. He thinks better of it. Sam doesn’t seem to have much patience with him and he’s pretty sure giving the big guy one more thing to be mad about would be a bad idea. On the other hand, he’s never had an encounter with an exclamation point worthy girl before.

Maybe the guys standing by the door will open it just enough for him to catch a glimpse inside while he walks past. That seems like a juvenile thing to hope for, but it isn’t like he has a lot else to take his mind off the reality of his situation. They aren’t opening the door, and he can’t really walk any slower without drawing attention, so he moves on.

Two pairs of eyes follow him as he steps out of the neon glow. It isn’t much, just a few seconds, but it’s enough to remind his stomach that it really wants to evict its contents. It’s also just enough to make him wonder what exactly they're doing outside the door. There isn’t a line. They aren’t smoking. They don’t appear to be waiting for a cab.

His heart is jackhammering in his chest again. He decides a glance back isn’t going to hurt anything and will help calm him down. They’re probably just outside the club trying to call their girlfriends without giving away their location by the pounding bass.

He looks over his shoulder, half expecting, half dreading that they’ll be right behind him, guns in hand. They haven’t moved. He realizes he’s been holding his breath and lets it out all at once, continuing up the street. It’s then that he notices a figure in front of him has stopped moving and has turned to face him. He can’t make out any identifying characteristics, nothing that would be helpful to the team in ID’ing him, but there’s no mistaking the glint of light coming from the blade in his hand.

He tenses up, not sure what his next move will be, but certain it’s going to depend entirely on what the guy up ahead does. A dozen different scenarios flash through his mind as he tries to plan. Not one of the scenarios, however, involves the gun barrel that comes crashing down on him from behind.

_Fucking distractions_ , he thinks as the world turns bright orange, then yellow, and then fades away entirely.

* * *

“They’ve got Javier. Heading east on Broadway,” Eric’s eyes dart across his tablet, “and it looks like they’re about to be going south on the five."

Hetty steps up behind him, taking command of the room. “Mr. Callen?”

“ _On him_ ,” he answers over the comm. “ _Black Escalade_. _Deeks?_ ”

“ _As soon as Cinderella gets her pretty little ass in the chariot, we’ll be on our way._ ”

“ _You try running in stilettos_.”

“ _Sure thing. I’ll just borrow a pair of Sam’s_.”

Nell spins around in her chair to watch the dots move across the big screen. The GPS tracker they attached to Javier is blinking steadily, the Challenger a short distance behind it. The Mercedes starts moving a few moments later when Kensi’s settled inside. She meets Hetty’s steady gaze. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

Hetty nods. “How’s the audio, Mr. Beale?”

Eric taps a few keys, ensuring that everything is as it should be. “It’s all set,” he assures her. “They’re just not talking.” 

“ _That sounds pleasant_.”

“ _Wait a minute. Is that a dig at me? That was a dig at me!_ ”

“ _Just pass me my vest_.”

“ _I don’t think it goes with your dress._ ”

“ _It goes better than a bullet hole_.”

“ _I suppose it does tie in the combat boots. Ow, Kens! Those heels are sharp!_ ”

“ _Why are all our mics open again_?” Sam grinds out through audibly gritted teeth.

“ _So I don’t have to be the only one to suffer_ ," Kensi answers.

Nell points to the screen. “The car’s slowing down. It looks like they’re headed to the freight yard.”

Hetty clasps her hands together. “Then so are we.”

* * *

The first thing he notices is the wet. Then the cold. In a moment, though, both sensations are replaced by the pounding that begins at the base of his skull and floods through his brain before landing behind his eyes in a shower of stars. The room is sideways. He blinks. Still sideways. It takes him a few more blinks before he realizes he’s on the ground. The light isn’t good, but it’s enough to make out multiple pairs of shoes in a semicircle in front of him. He assumes there are probably more behind him. _Shit._

A wall of water ploughs into his face, momentarily distracting him from the incessant pounding. Either they don’t realize he’s awake or they don’t care. He briefly considers feigning sleep, but then decides it doesn’t really matter. Awake or asleep, if somebody shoots him the result is going to be the same.

He spits out some of the water that made its way into his mouth and moves to push himself up off the floor. That’s when he realizes he can’t move his arms. He should have noticed the burning in his wrists sooner, but he’s still having a hard time focusing on much more than his head. And then there are all those shoes. Three pairs. No, four. If there really are more behind him then these guys seriously overestimate his abilities.

One of the pairs of shoes steps toward him. Hands reach down and haul him onto his feet. He knows he should be holding his own weight, but his head keeps pushing all his thoughts right out of his brain. Apparently Shoes thought he’d be holding his own weight too because he lets go. 

He tries to hold himself upright, but force of will alone isn’t enough to keep him from crashing back to the floor.

* * *

Sam’s jaw tightens. Eric’s been feeding the audio from Javier’s button mic through the team’s comms. There was a little talking at first, mostly one voice barking directions on where to dump Javier’s unconscious form. There’s no talking now, just thumps - like the sound a thick steak might make if it was dropped on the floor. Sam knows that sound. He can _feel_ that sound. 

He glances sideways. Callen’s face is expressionless, but Sam can read him. He feels it too. Anyone who has been _that guy_ can feel it. The guy falling to the floor, only to be dragged back to his feet for another round of punches before falling again. Sam knows it must feel like hours to Javier, even though it’s been only minutes. The blows will seem countless, even though they only come a handful at a time.

He grips his M4 a little tighter, knowing that each passing second becomes another bruise.

* * *

It’s his lips she notices. They’re usually relaxed; ready to crack a joke or break into a grin, even under high stress. Especially under high stress. Now they’re tight, jammed together and still. His eyes are locked on the warehouse door, his shoulders are tense. She knows he wants nothing more than the go-ahead, but it isn’t coming.

It’s not so much the beating they can hear over the comms that bothers him, although she knows it does. It’s the waiting, the stalling, the nothing that they’re doing while Javier’s body becomes a cartel punching bag. They’re all assuming someone inside will say something before they beat him to death - give them some clue - and then they’ll charge in with guns blazing. But there’s no way of knowing. No way to be sure that the cartel won’t just beat him to a pulp as a message to whoever it is they think Javier is connected to and then put a bullet through his skull without another word.

* * *

At first he tried to differentiate between the shoes. Scuffed was the guy who dragged him to his feet the first few times. Then it was Suede. By the third pair, he didn’t care and was pretty sure he had lost all ability to focus. He isn’t even sure which number he’s on right now as he feels himself being pulled up again.

He waits for the inevitable blow, but it doesn’t come. Instead he hears the scraping of metal across the floor. Hands shove him down hard and he lands on a chair.

He allows himself a moment of relief. He’s pretty confident they wouldn’t go through the effort of sitting him in a chair just to blow his brains out, so he’s probably got a least a couple more minutes left. He blinks a few times to bring his gaze into focus and finds himself staring down at some very shiny shoes. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen them before, which means this guy probably hasn’t hit him. Yet. Although, if the movies get it right, this must be the boss because the boss always has muscle on the payroll to do the punching. 

“Where’s my money?”

Javier coughs out something that sounds like _huh?_

“My money, amigo. You know, the paper kind with pretty pictures on it.”

“Why would I have your money?”

“Because your piece of shit old man doesn’t have it and I know you’ve been passing him cash.”

Javier considers that for a moment, trying to decide the best way to keep the conversation going. The way the man takes control of the situation seems to confirm Javier’s suspicion that he’s in charge. He’s also pretty sure that any first lieutenant in the cartel would be a dead first lieutenant after referring to the boss’ money as his own. Assuming the info he got from that midget lady was correct, that would make this guy Ochoa.

“Look,” Ochoa continues, “you and me, we can have a civilized conversation or I can let these _chanchos_ speak with you again. Up to you.”

Javier decides playing along with the father-son relationship is the best way to not wind up dead in the next thirty seconds. “My old man didn’t give me any of your money. He barely gave me anything.”

“Ah, so you think I’m stupid. You think I wasn’t having Perez followed when you passed him that envelope. You think I don’t know there was a thousand in small bills inside it. You think I don’t know that was _my_ ,” he draws out the words. “ _Fucking. Money._ ”

“Hey man, I was just trying to help him out, pay the bills and whatnot, you know?” 

“Okay, then how about this? Where’s my heroin? Or do you want to play dumb about that too?”

“I swear to God I don’t know anything about any drugs.”

“My friend,” Ochoa’s face breaks into a smile that’s anything but friendly, “let’s have a little class then, shall we?” He waves forward one of the guys standing behind Javier. “You see, heroin is a wonderful drug because it works so quickly. No waiting for the high. Immediate results. You can inject or inhale, whichever you like, but the rush hits you right away. Hits you like a fucking train and takes you so far away you won’t even worry about me or my guys. You’ll be floating. But while your brain is floating, your skin will get warm. Your mouth will get dry. You’ll have a hard time using your hands and your feet. They’ll feel heavy. Then you’ll feel a little nausea, maybe vomit a little on yourself. But you won’t care. You won’t _really_ notice. Because you’ll still be feeling so good.”

Scuffed had been shuffling around behind Javier while Ochoa droned on, but now he comes into Javier’s line of sight. He hands Ochoa a small box.

“For most of my customers, that’s where it ends. They get tired and pass out. When they wake up, they’re wondering where they can get their next hit. For the unlucky ones," he turns the box in his hands, "the unlucky ones inject just a little too much. The heart slows down, pumps less blood. That means your breathing is slower, your brain feels heavy. Pretty soon, you stop breathing altogether. Overdoses happen one of two ways - the junkie gets sloppy and stupid, or...” His voice trails off and he opens the box to reveal a needle, his hands moving with deliberate slowness. 

“Your old man was either sloppy, stupid or both. Or maybe he was lucky. Because what you’re going to go through is nothing compared to the pain I would have made him endure if my men had gotten to him.”

Javier’s eyes are glued to the needle. Needles have always made him uneasy. This one makes him downright ill. He knows what comes next. They’ll hold down his arms and shoot him up. They’ll probably leave him. He has no idea if anything can be done to save him. It’s not like somebody can just take him to the hospital and have his stomach pumped. He’s pretty sure if that needle goes in he’s going to die.

“I don’t really think your dumb as shit _padre_ gave you my money, but I know he had five kilos of my heroin and I know you were passing him cash. Junkies don’t get shit for free, so let me ask you again, my friend. Where. Is. My. Heroin?”

* * *

“ _Do we have enough yet?_ ” Deeks' voice crackles over the comms.

Hetty can’t see inside the room, but she doesn’t need eyes inside to know what’s in there. She’s been in Javier’s shoes more times than she can count and she knows self-important street thugs like the one standing in front of Javier enjoy giving their underlings the perception that they’re in charge. That they have unlimited power. She knows the game will continue for a few more moments and she wants more of the story. 

“Patience, Mr. Deeks.”

* * *

He has no clue what he can say that will get him out alive. He imagined this scenario a hundred times after Detective Deeks suggested it and in every incarnation he said just the right thing or made the right move and not only got out unscathed, but covered his own ass too. He tries remembering what he did in his imagination but his mind is heavy from the punches and he isn’t focusing. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die anyway, so he decides the truth can’t hurt.

“He wasn’t my dad.”

Ochoa doesn’t move. His eyes are emotionless. “Continue,” he commands.

“I barely knew that guy. He was just some dude who put out an ad. Said if I wanted a full ride scholarship to meet him and he could hook me up. Said it was legit. Said he was running some government program aimed at low income kids who had come through the foster system. I figured I had nothing to lose so I went for it. I met him and he told me he reviewed my CDSS file and knew everything he needed to know. Told me I qualified and I was the best he’d ever seen and that I’d probably make newspaper headlines once all the scholarship paperwork went through.

“Seemed too good to be true, but then he started flashing me all these credentials and badges and shit. Told me the applicant was usually required to fly to Washington D.C. to meet with the big boys. Told me that he could almost guarantee I’d walk away with a full ride, but I was going to have to pony up two Gs to cover the application fee, airline, hotel and all that other stuff. I told him no way I can come up with two grand just like that. So he came back with he could waive the trip to D.C., which meant no plane fare, no hotels, just the application fee. A thousand bucks and I’ve got the scholarship in the bag. Told me he’d make sure the feds put up enough money to cover my enrollment and get me going in whatever school I could qualify to get into.

“So I did it. I gave him a thousand bucks and he lived up to his side of the bargain and got me all set up at school.” His head’s pounding and his throat is dry. He licks his lips and keeps talking. “The other day I got this notice from the admin office. Said my payment is still due. Turns out I never got a damn cent from any damn scholarship.” 

“This is all very fascinating," Ochoa says as he lifts the needle from the case, "but unless you’re about to tell me that you stole five kilos of heroin out from under his nose as payback for fucking with you and taking your money -” 

“He owed me.”

Ochoa’s smile is back, but his eyes are still lifeless and hard. “Continue.”

“I was pissed that he stole my thousand bucks and took off. So I checked around on Craigslist until I saw another posting from him. I got a buddy to respond, a guy I spent some time with in one of the homes. He met up with Perez and played along with the scam, but told him he needed to think about it.

“I followed Perez back to his place. He didn’t even bother looking for a tail. He was too busy pulling over every couple of blocks to take a snort.

“So he got back to his place. I gave him fifteen or twenty minutes. I figured, I dunno, I figured I’d go threaten him. Tell him I’d recorded a confession and left it with a friend and the friend was going to the police in thirty minutes if I didn’t call him to cancel it. Tell him I’m not budging until I’ve got my thousand bucks back.”

“Problem was, I got to his apartment and he’s passed out on the couch. Powder is everywhere, like he’s been ripping at one of the bags. But he’s got four bricks on the table. So I grabbed ‘em and took off. I figured - I figured I was screwed without some leverage. I didn’t know what else to - _fuck!_ "

He’d been so caught up in his own anger that he hadn’t noticed what Ochoa was doing. Hadn’t noticed anything until the needle was moving through his skin and lodging itself in a vein.

* * *

**A/N:** I apologize for the long delay. I have a litany of excuses - only half of which are valid. I promise not to take as long to bring you chapter five. Thanks for sticking with it. (Also, this was plotted long before Resurrection aired. Any and all similarities are the universe punishing me for not updating in a timely manner.)


	5. Chapter 5

“ _Think very carefully before you open your mouth again, my friend. Where. Are. My. Drugs?_ ”

“ _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t. I’ll do anything._ ”

Sam knows immediately that the stakes have changed. The pleading tone in Javier’s voice tells him he’s no longer trying to avoid a beating; he’s begging for his life.

“ _But you see, I don’t want just anything - I want a location. I’m going to give you ten seconds to tell me where you’ve stashed my heroin. After that..._ ”

Sam’s eyes dart sideways and catch Callen’s gaze for the briefest instant. It could be a bluff. It doesn’t seem likely that Ochoa would execute the only guy who knows where four kilos of heroin are hidden. But Sam has seen enough warlords and cartel bosses in action to know that money and drugs are often a small price to pay for a demonstration of might. This is an opportunity for Ochoa to show his guys that when he says he’ll do it, he’ll always fucking do it.

“Go,” Hetty commands through their comms.

Sam’s body reacts instinctively. He’s moving to the side of the door before the comm clicks off. He positions himself just far enough away to avoid the small amount of plastic explosives Callen had applied to the hinges and latch, and braces for impact as he sees Callen squeeze the remote.

* * *

Javier’s eyes are locked on the needle lodged in his arm, so he feels more than sees the door behind Ochoa explode inward. Smoke pours in through the gaping hole where the door used to be. While Ochoa’s attention is diverted, Javier does the only thing he can from his bound and seated position - he leans back hard.

Javier twists out of the chair as it crashes against the floor. He can see from his periphery that Ochoa and his men have recovered enough to have drawn their weapons, all thought of Javier gone.

He can’t help but feel a sense of triumph for following Agent Callen’s instructions - “ _When the shit hits the fan, get out of our way._ ” He flattens himself on the floor as much as possible, letting himself believe for a moment that he might just make it out of the building alive. He feels a slight burning in his arm and remembers the needle embedded in his flesh. He glances down at his arm, still pinned back against his body by the ropes biting into his wrists. 

His heart dives to the pit of his stomach and the euphoria he had felt seconds before falls away and is replaced by terror. 

The plunger is halfway depressed.

* * *

Kensi waits until she hears the explosion, then slides open the dock door. Most of the men inside are still focused on where Sam and Callen are coming through, but two of them spin around to face the new threat.

She moves left through the door. Her M4 rocks back twice into her shoulder and the first target drops. Her aim shifts slightly to pick up the second man, but he’s already falling, a casualty of Deeks’ opening salvo.

She sees two figures running away from the action, but she hesitates to follow until confirming the rest of the team is safe. It only takes her a second to confirm all of the targets are dead or down, but that’s enough time for the fleeing men to slip through a door leading out of the storage room.

“Deeks!” she calls out, already running after them. She increases her speed as soon as she hears him behind her, knowing that she can afford to be a little more reckless with Deeks covering her back.

* * *

Deeks’ eyes focus momentarily on Kensi’s form in front of him, but then they’re looking past her, seeking out any threat. She races down a hallway, barely pausing as her shoulder crashes through the first set of doors. It isn’t until the second corner that he manages to catch up with her and even then it’s only because she’s slowed her pace.

They’re approaching a section of the hallway with doors evenly spaced on either side. The upper half of each wall is made up almost entirely of glass panes. She motions him to the right and he focuses on the interior of what appear to be offices and conference rooms on the other side of the windows lining his side.

They hear the click at the same time. He spins forward toward the threat as the hallway erupts with the sound of automatic weapons firing. He knows he’s moving too slow, but he keeps moving anyway, desperately seeking the source of the gunfire. Kensi’s moving too, but not toward the threat. She’s moving directly at him, throwing herself into him and propelling both of them through a sheet of glass.

They land heavily, but intact. She slides off to one side and he moves the opposite direction. The gunfire is slowing down and is now limited to periodic sprays that are more of a fishing expedition than a real attempt to connect the lead with flesh.

He scoots over to a desk chair lying on its side. He catches her eye and nods toward the blown out window. She nods back and raises three fingers as he grips the chair and braces himself.

_Two. One._ The fingers tick off to zero and he launches the chair back through the now-empty window frame and into the hallway. Bullets immediately smash through the chair, the men directing the fire realizing too late that the object poses no threat.

Kensi is on her feet the moment the chair leaves Deeks’ hands and has no problem tracking the slight sparks erupting from the gun barrels. A few well-aimed bullets of her own put an end to the action.

“Hey goldilocks, it’s safe to get up now,” she calls, grinning at Deeks as he rolls to his feet.

“Uh huh. I do the heavy lifting and you take all the credit for rescuing the damsel in distress.”

“Well, it would have been too cliche for you to rescue me with this damn dress on.”

“If I’d have known that was a problem, I’d have helped you take it off when you tackled me.”

She opens the door to the hallway and lets herself out, but she isn’t quick enough to hide the smile that spreads across her face.

* * *

Callen moves through the still forms scattered across the floor. He’s pretty sure they’re all dead, but he isn’t still alive on account of being careless. The first four had been muscle. As he approaches the fifth, he can see the slight rise and fall of his chest. His eyes dart down to assess the threat level and he’s relieved to see neither hand is moving. The handgun lying next to the nearly motionless figure a non-issue.

Callen kicks away the weapon and studies the man’s face for a moment. Ochoa. Blood is flowing from the side of his head and Callen can see where a bullet grazed heavily above Ochoa’s ear. Messy, but not life threatening.

He moves away from Ochoa’s still form and approaches the last prone figure. The body is arranged awkwardly. Callen can’t help but think this is how most Hollywood types envision death, legs spread at awkward angles. But the arms are wrong. If this was a movie scene, the arms would be spread out like the man had died while running. This guy’s arms are straight down to his sides and slightly behind him.

Callen draws closer and realizes the arms look awkward because they’re bound.

“Sam!” Callen calls, crouching down to Javier’s side. “Here. Now!”

Sam moves at the sound of his name and arrives in moments. “Is he -”

Callen shakes his head. “No. But his pulse is fading in and out. He’s going to code.”

“Eric. Need a medic here, now,” Sam barks into his comm.

“No time,” Callen says, rising. “We’re moving him. He’s not going to make it waiting for an ambulance.”

Sam slides his arms under Javier’s limp form and propels him upwards, hauling him back through the cartel corpses and the still slightly-smoking door. 

Callen opens the door to the Challenger and helps Sam lift him inside. 

“I’ll stay here to make sure Ochoa doesn’t go anywhere. Drive fast.”

By the time the words are out of Callen’s mouth, the roar of the engine makes any response from Sam impossible.

* * *

“We looked a little deeper into PFC Perez’ financials,” Eric says as he comes down the stairs and into the bullpen, Nell on his heels.

She steps up beside him, a file clutched in her hand. “We knew he filed the paperwork to get dependant status for Javier and the others in order to get them GI benefits, so it seemed strange that their tuition would still be due. From what we’d seen, everything appeared to be in order.”

“And it was,” Eric says. He rocks back on his heels and raises his eyebrows. “At least, right up until the transfer.”

Nell puts the file in Sam’s extended hand. “Perez lined up everything - up to and including the government actually footing the bill for each of the five kids’ first semester at college. But the money didn’t quite make it to the schools.”

“He was rerouting the payments to himself,” Sam concludes, opening the folder to scan the contents.

Nell nods. “There’s not much left of it, but the transactions were definitely there.”

Deeks shakes his head. “He managed to rob the government and schools in one move and then added to it by fleecing the kids with his next. Impressive.”

“Not the word I’d use,” Sam says, closing the file and dropping it onto his desk.

“Devious?” Deeks guesses. “Conniving?”

“Let’s just say it rhymes with pr-”

“Let us keep that word to ourselves, shall we, Mr. Hanna?” Hetty says as she appears on the other side of the divider.

Eric's heart leaps into his throat. How does she do that?

Deeks pouts. “Now I’m going to be up all night wondering.”

“I just spoke with Mr. Ortiz’ physician at Pacific Medical. Thanks to Mr. Hanna’s, how shall I say this, _unorthodox_ driving, Mr. Ortiz made it to the hospital before going into cardiac arrest. That allowed his medical team to administer naloxone and counteract the effects of the heroin overdose.”

The tension in the room evaporates as Hetty’s words soak in.

“Mr. Ortiz is anxiously awaiting discharge. However, he will not be released unless it’s to be directly into someone’s care.” Hetty looks between her youngest agent and her liaison. “Mr. Deeks? Ms. Blye? The guestroom in the boathouse has been prepared.”

Kensi reaches for her bag and Deeks crosses to his desk, but Sam halts them. 

“I got this, you guys.”

Kensi frowns. “You sure, Sam? We don’t mind.”

He nods and pushes out of his chair. “I got this.”

* * *

Sam grips Javier’s arm and helps propel him up the stairs. “It’s not the Ritz, but it’s not the worst place I’ve stayed.”

“What’s the worst place you’ve stayed?”

“It’s a tie between the place with the pigs and the time I was buried alive.”

“Seems like that shouldn’t be a tie.”

“Pigs are filthy.”

Sam swings open the door to the room and motions for Javier to go ahead of him. 

Javier tosses his bag onto the bed and scrubs his hand across his face. He’s been a breath away from collapsing since he was discharged from the hospital and into Sam’s care. All he wants to do now is fall onto the bed in a heap of bruised, battered and throbbing limbs, but Sam’s still standing in the doorway and he’d rather not have him bear witness to his collapse.

“That was a brave thing you did today.”

Javier shrugs off the compliment. It didn’t feel like bravery. It felt a whole lot like terror, actually. “Didn’t really have much of a choice unless I wanted to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“I suppose if you include death as an option, then yeah.”

“Death is always an option.”

“That’s a frightening thought.”

Sam nods, eyes dropping to the file folder he’s been carrying since they got out of the car. “I, uh,” he steps all the way into the room and holds the folder out to Javier, “I thought you might find use for these.”

Javier tries to keep from wincing in pain as he reaches out to take the papers. He doesn’t succeed.

“They’re applications,” Sam says as Javier opens the folder. “For scholarships. There are a couple of them in there that I think you have a very good chance at landing.”

For a moment the constant sensation of pain is replaced with something warm and comforting. He swallows down the lump that crept unnoticed into his throat. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “Your education’s important - don’t abandon it.”

He looks up and meets Sam’s gaze. “I won’t,” he promises.

“And no more illegal shit. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will personally come and kick your ass.”

Javier laughs. “You’d have to catch me first.”

* * *

Kensi opens the door and finds Deeks grinning on the other side.

“Nice shirt.”

She rolls her eyes and steps back, wordlessly inviting him to enter. “I haven’t had a chance to change yet.”

“Not true,” he says as he comes inside, a six-pack in one hand and a bag of something delightfully greasy-smelling in the other. “You changed out of your dress at the mission - and changed right back into my shirt.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs and closes the door, “mine was still ruined, so.”

“Uh huh.” He drops the beers on her coffee table and they clatter together noisily. “I know for a fact you have at least three shirts in your locker.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Seemed a shame to get one of them dirty just for the trip home.”

He reaches in the bag and pulls out a burger, tossing it to her as she drops onto the couch. 

Kensi grabs the remote and turns on the television, surfing the channels until she comes across something suitably trashy. Deeks settles down beside her and they eat in companionable silence.

She blames the dip in the couch for the way she gravitates toward him, her arm close enough to feel the heat of him and his thigh pressed lightly against hers. She blames the shirt for the smell of him and the warmth it sends coursing through her.

“You never told me what point you were proving.”

“Hmm?”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, right. The point.” She’s pretty sure she had one in the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just morphed into her really not wanting to take off the damn thing. God, it smells good. She’ll never be able to eat coconut with a straight face again.

“You don’t have one, do you?”

She bristles reflexively at his grin. “I do too.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I do,” she insists, wracking her brain to remember. It was something about being needlessly careless. She’s pretty sure. Or maybe it was about being more considerate? Less considerate? When did he get so close?

“Kens, you can admit it. I won’t judge you.”

“I have a point,” she insists with an embarrassing lack of conviction.

“But if you don’t,” he continues over her objection, eyes locked on hers, “then you don’t get to keep wearing the shirt.”

She realizes what he’s about to do before he does it, but she can’t bring herself to stop him from reaching over and flicking open the top button.

“Deeks,” she warns.

“No point. My shirt,” he says, fingers moving to the next button and smug grin spreading across his features.

The look in his eyes tells her he’s trying to bait her, trying to push her so hard that she pushes back. He wants her to swat his hands away - to laugh and roll her eyes and turn back to the movie. And usually, that's exactly what she would do - what she should do.

But she doesn’t _want_ to. 

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe it’s the pheromones. Or maybe she’s just tired of this dance they’ve been doing. 

Maybe she’s ready for a new one.

She grabs the hem of the shirt and pulls it over her head, tossing it at him with a raised eyebrow.

His jaw practically unhinges.

She shrugs with as much of a carefree air as she can muster. “Your shirt."

He snaps his mouth shut. After a few false starts, he clears his throat. “Just to be clear - you know, because apparently I am not the best judge of whether women are or are not hitting on me -” He scratches his head. “Are you, uh,” he clears his throat again, “are you...”

“Yes, Deeks. I’m hitting on you.”

“Oh, okay, well.” He smiles and sits up straighter. “In that case," he points at her chest, "that’s my bra, too.”

She laughs out loud. “I bet you want it back, then.”

“Yes,” he says as he leans in, eyes sparkling as his lips hover over hers, “yes I do.”


End file.
